I need to put up little post-its everywhere that say, "Exercise or die."

I have been trying to get exercising and with the rib and then subsequent tooth infection, I've not done squat. I feel HORRIBLE.

And the more I think about how to squeeze things in, the more upset and stressed out I get. When I suggested to Mike that I'd like to get up at the buttcrack of dawn and go work out he brought up that whole pesky lack of sleep thing.

I'm not getting sleep anyhow with worrying about not working out, so I might as well go swim. I can't walk because the freaking hillsides are bright yellow with blooming sagebrush and there's nothing worse than sucking in the desert air laden with sagebrush pollen for me.

Root canals hurt. They hurt a lot.

What's worse is that I am supposed to do a reading practicum tomorrow and establish rapport with a kid I've never met before and I feel like someone ran into my jaw with a steamshovel.

I was all happy I could drop the assessment class. I was wrong. My reading class is a licensure class and is considered undergraduate, so I have to keep all the classes for retaining my GA-ship. I got an extension on the assessment project due tomorrow, and lord knows, I've got more homework than I can shake big sticks at.

I don't know if I'm just hurting or what, but my husband has been a real butthole. He's been ill-tempered and cussing at me and I just wish he'd fuck off. No, I haven't told him that. He's been dealing for one stupid week with what I did for three freaking months -- single parenting while the other parent was unavailable. I was not a butthole while I took care of things. I didn't cuss him out. I simply did what had to be done and sometimes put some long hours in doing it. I thought for one week, he'd actually pitch in and be nice to me, but he hasn't. He's played computer games at every turn and been a total buttwipe about everything from doing laundry to cleaning floors. He promised that he'd help get the house in order when it was show week, but instead worked 3 of 5 days and managed to get in a whole bunch of computer game time, but the bathroom floor continues to have an odd texture. His answer, is that if I'd just tell him to do stuff, he'd do it. I feel like at 27 years old, I shouldn't have to treat him like one of the kids and ask him to do fucking everything. If you see filth on the floor, generally, that means, CLEAN THE FREAKIN' FLOOR, OK? Oh, and he can't understand why he's not getting laid. Yeah, the pain is a factor, but so is the overwhelm.

I'm too fucked up tired/sick/in pain with this stupid tooth and too buried in homework and work-work to deal with the usual "nag him til he pukes" scenario.

It would be miraculous if he'd actually just pitch in and do this shit on his own. I called and spoke to him at lunch today, but I don't know that it was worthwhile to have bothered. I had the distinct impression I'd been politely ignored.

All I want to do is cry right now, which I'm sure is because I'm frustrated and in agony. 1500mg of vicodan isn't helping the pain much, but the alternative is to send Mike to town for a prescription that may render me unconscious for my reading practicum.

Tomorrow, I get a root canal, but I did something more important.

I talked to my adviser about my classload vs. grad assistantship and said that with the infected tooth, I'd missed a lot of class and had a lot of catch up and that I was pretty sure that the assessment class was going to kick my butt. I explained that I had practicum in reading on Tuesday, as well as the turn-in for assessment and that both occurred after my root canal on Monday. What should I do?

I asked about the political implications of dumping a class on the GA-ship. She said there were more implications in getting B's or getting bad reviews on my GA-ship.

So I'm dumping assessment. The only uneasy thing about that is one of the professors I work for is the assessment prof. This prof is mean and condescending, so truthfully, I'm a bit scared of him. I'd rather be scared of him for 5 hours a week of work rather than a full 8 hours, plus homework per week.

I'll be working all day today to get his shit done and prep for my reading practicum. I am not too worked up about the practicum, but I want to have all my ducks in a row for it and I'd rather have the stuff done for the Meanie ahead, especially if I'm going to tell him I'm dumping his class.

I'm retaining the book for assessment and I'm going to read and reread the materials, so that when I take the class, I'm more comfortable. I know it sounds weird, but that's what I'm doing. The assessment prof isn't much of a people person, nor a good teacher, so the studying I do, should help me through this, when I take it later. I'm thinking of designing a curriculum for myself, so that I can manipulate the materials and understand it better. Because I work for him, I can take those materials and then ask him questions, so I've learned the material the way I need to.

---

Mike and I are working on the bedroom. It's kind of funny though, because I talked him out of using his big highboy dresser and using mine. His only caveat was that I move the clothes. I was positively gleeful last night.

However, when I told him, he was going to have to clear all his shit off the top of it and we were going to switch shit-storing on top places, he was not amused. I explained that having him slam and smash drawers as he usually does on his bureau, would not work on my bureau and that I was not having him slam and smash my pretties. He HARUMPHED. I snickered. I think we need knickknack shelves is all.

Then we got into a bicker about that I needed shelves and he whined a lot and said well, we agreed to "A." I explained that just because he wanted "A" very badly did NOT mean that we agreed it. He got the deer in the headlights look, knew he'd been caught, and cussed under his breath.

Dumbass.

I may have ADHD, but I am not stoooopid. Yeesh. So anyhow, after we get paid, there will be some investment in our bedroom taking place and some minor construction.

Wow them with reason and suffering I say. If all else fails, smack them with a pillow.

I finally saw the dentist and the dentist said I need a root canal and gave me a referral. I called the referree and they offered me an appointment on October 13. I explained that my antibiotics would be out next week and that I'm diabetic, so can't afford to wait very long. She offered to put me on a "call list" and assured me that I'd hear from the sooner than the 13th.

Yeah, whatever.

I called back the dentist and told her my plight, and they gave me other referrals. I have an appointment for Monday. Now, the problem is coming up with $700. Anyone need a liver? How about a kidney? I think Mike and I are going to take a lot of pictures of clothes I love but no longer fit in and I'll measure them up and they'll go for sale on ebay.

I'm still popping vicodan to slow the pain down. Geesh, it's awful! I think my favorite medication is the muscle relaxant. Of course, I wake up, talk to Mike and fall asleep mid-sentence, so the entertainment value alone makes that medication well worth the co-pay. Last night, I heard myself snore mid-sentence while I was trying to talk with Mike. He accused me of falling asleep, which I vigorously denied. He giggled at me and I harumphed and of course, fell back asleep.

I've managed to make one class this week. I'm a bad grad student. I have barely worked this week, which sucks, but I guess it leaves next week to be buried in work. On Monday, I'll be in pain, but nothing close to what I've experienced for the past 6 days. And the happy thing, I get laughing gas and novacaine, so for at least a few hours, I won't feel a damned thing and I'll be happy about it. I'll get about one more night of vicodan and then I can switch to the non-narcotic stuff, which would be lovely. I tried 800 mg of ibuprofen and it simply doesn't touch a raw exposed nerve in one's mouth.

Mostly, I'm bone-tired. All this pain wears a woman out. I'm stressed about how much work I don't have done, but what can I do?

Okay, nix that last post.

I have an absessed tooth, which my dentist blew off because my physician diagnosed it. It's one damned expensive tooth, too. So far, it's cost me a dental visit, an ER visit and a dr. visit. Crazy!

I'm going to bed now, until the antibiotics kick in, and I'm not leaving until the keflex stops the throbbing. And God Bless my Physician's Assistant for prescribing a muscle relaxant.

My damned crowns are not seated properly and my GOD they hurt. I am taking combinations of vioxx and codeine to keep pace with the pain. It's awful. I've been brushing my teeth with flouride like crazy, but to no avail. Some of it is that my stupid mouth guard doesn't fit right, so my teeth are getting shoved in odd ways, but some of it is that the teeth are hitting harder than they should.

All I know is that I'd give away organs to just have these crowns removed and replaced. They haven't been right for a year and now, they're worse than before.

I also fucked up something with work. I had all the information I needed given to me on a piece of paper. If you know me or ADHD people at all, a piece of paper is just one more damned thing to lose in the larger scope of things.

I've lost and found this thing 3 times. Right now, it's found. But who knows what tomorrow and a three year old will bring?

I turned 40 on Thursday.

It was the first time I've celebrated my birthday without a deep sense of mourning since the WTC thing. It was cool.

I think that 40 should mean something significant somehow, but I feel just the same. I still get acne and I'm dying my hair as I have for over a decade.

My boobs don't sag any more than they did last year or even 5 years ago.

The only thing I'm struck by at all is that at 40, I'm over my median age, which means I'm getting a lot closer to dying than I used to be. That's a bit nervewracking.

To adequately address the wracking of nerves, I'm getting a membership to the YMCA, so I can work out. Mike offered me a black birthday party and I told him to stuff it. Hell, I'll be 50 before he turns 40, the little shit. As long as he thinks I'm hot and sexy, I don't care how old I am. As he says,"You're only as old as the person you feel."

I guess I'll be 27 for a while, then, and buying him hair dye shortly.

We're trying to get Russell's meds changed because he's not doing well on the focus stuff. I had to pummel him through his homework last night -- repeating, repeating, repeating. Sometimes, when he's this bad, I think in the back of my head that it'd be easier to just smack him through the work because I feel so frustrated. Then I feel guilty because it's got to suck for him, too. He hangs in there like a total trooper, but this has to suck for him.

His teacher sent an assignment home that he'd already done twice, so I just typed the body on the computer and had him fill it in on the computer. The teacher's note was,"Where do we go from here?"

I thought tearfully, we throw up our hands in despair, whimper in our tea, and keep going. When I called the pediatrician and said that I think his meds need to be increased, I felt like I'd sold my soul to the pharmaceutical companies. I just don't want another joy ride on the medication rollercoaster we endured last year.

I hate to even think about putting him into Special Ed classes because he's too smart for that. It would be an enormous disservice to him. I don't think homeschooling is a good choice either, but I don't know if we can afford private schooling for him. I'm just starting to feel desperate for him and heartbroken. I'm just not sure how to help him.

We are not between a rock and a hard place. We are teetering on the edge of a windy precipice and the nightmare rarely alters. I just want to protect him from the elements, you know?

Harsh Betty sent me the means to design my own hell. As a fervent and very old Red Sox fan, because I used to listen to them on the radio when Yaz played along with Carlton Fiske back in the day, you'll understand the worst ring.

Rude DMV Employees, Chicago Bulls Fans
Circle I Limbo

Saddam Hussein, Tobacco company executives
Circle II Whirling in a Dark & Stormy Wind

Republicans, Osama bin Laden
Circle III Mud, Rain, Cold, Hail & Snow

General asshats, Out-of-State gray-haired drivers going 20 mph below the limit
Circle IV Rolling Weights

Grad School, Oakland Raider fans
Circle V Stuck in Mud, Mangled

River Styx

NRA Members, PETA Members
Circle VI Buried for Eternity

River Phlegyas

Creationists, Bigots
Circle VII Burning Sands

George Bush and all other hypocritical stupidheads
Circle IIX Immersed in Excrement

The New York Yankees, Child Abusers
Circle IX Frozen in Ice

Design your own hell

If you ask me how I'm doing for the next 9 months (the length of this year of school-- don't get excited), just assume, "tired" is correct.

I've been losing weight. I often forget to eat or I'm running around so much that I don't have time to eat, so I just grab snacks here and there and already I've lost a size. I bought a dress a month ago before school and when I tried to wear it, it fit tightly, so I put it back in the closet and now, I'm able to wear it and it hangs properly. I have shorts I expanded out of that I'm back in. I have other shorts I'd like to wear before the season ends, but I'll take what I can get while I can get it. Mike and I actually managed to make a two-backed beasty today and he commented on the reduction in handholds he encountered. heh.

I'm swamped. I would love to volunteer in a classroom, but I'm having enough trouble keeping up with my paying job. I did settle things with Russell's teacher about how to do stuff for him in class, but we have to revisit the IEP and specify each thing, so that it's documented and the junior high transition won't be so hard later on.

I have to go clean and supervise cleaning or I'll be unhappy with the lack of cleaning. We've got the company picnic tomorrow, but the only reason Mike wants to go is that so that he can get in the drawing for the annual slot machine and try to win it for his grandmother. I told him he could take the kids because I was going to have to study and work. How luxurious it would be if I could also sleep without a perv monkey, or a little squeaky monky, or a bigger squeaky monkey disturbing my slumber.

Nyahhhhh. Sleep is for undergrads.

The making love ritual is so clumsy when you're tired. Your spouse resorts to saying stupid things like,"Wanna do it?" Which immediately makes you feel cheap and nasty when what you want to feel is pretty and princessy because what you already feel is like a semi ran over you and then backed up and went back and forth a few times. You try to smartass him out of saying such things, but he repeats it every time, despite the fact that in 7 years it really has never worked.

You get hopeful because he spoons with you in bed that you're going to get your neck kissed. That hope shines brightly and is suddenly dashed when he starts to breathe deeply and drool on the back of your neck. At which point, you roll over on your comfortable side, kiss his cheek and fall asleep yourself.

At 523AM, someone's goddamn fucking OHMYGODWHATTHEHELL *IS* THATNOISE bird creature wakes you out of a sound sleep. You think hard, I mean REALLY FUCKING HARD about hooting like a Spotted Owl because they are natural predators of geese or WHATEVERTHATFUCKINGTHINGWAS to shut them up but decide that it will probably bring the tired husband upright in bed, and then will potentially yank kids out of bed, so you shut the damned window, cursing under your breath because your husband never wakes up to hear you cussing.

At 630AM you finally drop off. At 632, your husband's alarm clock goes off, so you smack him to get him out of bed and fall back to sleep, content that everything is right in the world.

I'm in grad school, which means without reservation that I am back to being coffee's biatch. I am enjoying my coffee quotient, though. Coffee good. Coffee necessary. Um, could you move now, you're blocking my view of the coffee pot. I figure it's only going to get bad if I start thinking of using whole coffee beans as ben wa balls. If I get to there, just call the coffee cops because that's abuse and neglect of coffee beans. I don't need caffeine there.

My husband's job is kicking it up a notch. All the games are due by next Monday, which means all of next week, he'll be working on finishing up other people's games because I can guarantee you that he'd rather chew glass than not have his games done. That means he'll be a grumpy unbearable tired beasty for the next few weeks and we'll be falling asleep holding hands because we'll both be too damned tired to make the two-back beasty.

Heck, I'm already too tired for that.

Damn, I need some more coffee.

I just want to say, "Happy Birthday, Sue!" May your whapadang be longlasting and may your linguists be cunning. I bought you a present, but as usual I'm late, so I'll mail it tomorrow. I hereby give you a gift certificate for a tonsil hugging fellating, at your whim. For those of you who don't know our relationship, nor our long linguistic history (Eric degreed in French, me in English, Sue in German and we all have the gift of languages -- you know where you can pick one up pretty quick on the fly?) -- we decided a long time ago that it was hardly fair that men got to say something rude like "suck my dick" and that the equivalent "suck my clit" just didn't have the same gutteral sense to it, so we started saying "Suck my dick" to each other, which amounted to some level of social and linguistic freedom at the time. Of course, when Llisa from Hell tied one on and used to holler it loudly at attractive frat boys, Harsh Betty and Red Neck Ruby used to cringe at the loss of attractive potential sex partners. It's a different world now to be so damned grown up and monogamous in retrospect. I am not gay, nor is Betty, though if we were gay, she'd be the lesbian I'd pick. Whapadang, baby!

***

So we celebrated Russell's 10th birthday on Saturday. We were going to do this take the kids swimming and then feed the parents and kids at our house, but we ended up moving it and staying at a local lake and hanging out with our redneck friends. All the women were speaking Spanish, so I struggled through with my lousy Spanish and they filled in the vocabulary I didn't know and it was an awful lot of fun.

Russell had a ball and we ended things on Sunday with a pinata bashing on the beach, complete with kids beating the snot out of each other for candy. Mike took both kids on a jet ski, which they loved. This means at some point, we'll be getting a trailer and a jetski and trying this out ourselves, because they loved it. I didn't dare do it because with my luck I figured I'd reinjure my rib, so despite pleading from Mike, I didn't go. I did fart around in the water, wrapped in styrofoam noodles and paddling around, which was all I really felt up to. I would have preferred to be smooching Mike in tent somewhere, but we're too noisy.

***

Finally, today I'm getting caught up on all my homework and web work and bills. I feel so efficient. I also took my concerta today, which was a terrific idea. Focus is good.

My husband is a quirky neat man.

It's 1 AM and he's gone to the 24 hour Walmart to buy a telescope so we can watch Mars because we don't figure we'll even be a memory in cosmic dust when it next comes this close to us again.

I worry vaguely about the astrological consequences of having the red planet -- the planet of confrontation and conflagration so close to us.

I'm dressing in sweats and blankets to watch the last of the Perseids, too. We have seen a half dozen tonight.

Russell's birthday bash is tomorrow, but once every 60000 years is important, too. *shrug*

Sleep is for undergrads.

I'm really tired.

Mike says I need to cut back on the workahol.

I'd love to stay and chat, but I have to go to work now.

Don't laugh. It's just not that damned funny right now.

The harvest has started. As late as I put it my garden, I probably don't deserve vegetables, but it's producing nonetheless. Right now, I've got yellow squash in droves and I'm starting to realize I've got hot peppers to beat the band, and the apple tree that I managed to water a few times is starting to show ripe apples. I need to go buy streamers to keep out the birds, so I can collect enough to freeze applesauce. I'm also thinking to make some apple pie filling and freeze it for the pies I want in November.

I love that I am a homeowner. I love that I have fruit trees and that I can dream of fruit orchards and a larger garden next year. I love that my husband dreams it right along with me and watches my face light up as I talk excitedly about the possibilities and he simply smiles.

***

I've been in a funk for the past month because I haven't been able to exercise due to my broken rib. Without exercise, I invariably gain weight, so I'm pretty bummed about that, but I found a faculty member at the chair's BBQ on Friday who wants to swim at the Y with me. Yeah! Next week makes 6 weeks of broken rib, so while I'm still not sleeping on that side, I am going to be exercising and losing weight, dammit.

I have the hardest time with breakfast. I always have. I was horrible before I diagnosed with diabetes because all I would have for breakfast was Mountain Dews. I figured the sugar was enough calories and that the caffeine would save me. Of course, I got drowsier and drowsier on sugar, as I drank more and more trying to get caffeinated. I also noticed that Diet Dew would make me feel better, but it's just not nearly as smooth as the sugared stuff.

Lately, with all the changes, I'm falling back into my bad patterns again. I'm not eating breakfast.

Um, *drool* I love bagels. They are essentially (1 g) fat-free, but they do constitute four carbohydrates, which means I mostly don't ever eat a whole one, or if I do, I plan on swimming or walking afterward, so my sugars don't do something awful. Of course, all that sugar can convert to fat, too, which really blows. Cuz, there is NOTHING on God's green earth as tasty fresh as a nice fresh garlic/onion bagel lightly toasted with cream cheese (light or fully loaded)!

My only other breakfast alternative is having a quesadilla smothered in homemade chipotle green salsa and sprouts. I use whole wheat (98% fat free - no lard) tortillas, enough grated sharp cheddar to barely cover half of it, a smidge of olive oil on teflon, and then I load it with salsa and sprouts. (Don't tell the rednecks I'm a transplanted, sprout eating, former Californian, or I'm way screwed.)

My quick breakfast is a V-8 and a balance bar (usually one of those fake chocolate ones), but I don't have any V-8 and the balance bar is never enough on its own and god forbid, I'd have to eat two. I can eat one, but two just makes me go 'ick' because I can talk my way through one with that odd protein aftertaste, but definitely not two.

And try as I might, I cannot convince myself that Kashi tastes good, nor do my sugars appreciate the milk. It's okay, but it's sooo high sugar and the milk just about kills me. I try to gag a bowl down once in a while, but truthfully, my perfect diabetic breakfast is about a half cup of low-fat cottage cheese with a cup of berries with a small cup of lite syrup peaches.

Okay, so while tomorrow is going to be hectic, I'm going to make a point to get out to the kitchen and eat some damned breakfast before I leave.

Tired and wet. Those are today's words.

It's been raining, which in the desert in mid-August is a welcome thing in many ways, it's also a big pain in the patooty.

I'm really worn out. I've been doing a lot of good stuff and on top of it all, shhhh, I'm going to start putting together that book. I talked with my old professor today and I asked her about it and she got me thinking about the where to start place, so I am going to start with a prospectus. I'm not clear what that is, exactly, but apparently, Prentice-Hall has a website to give you a good idea.

I know some of the books they published out of some of the dumbest professors at UC Davis, so I can't imagine that they wouldn't be interested in this.

I have to really consider that audience though. Who are you audience? Are you parents or teachers or student teachers or just exactly what?

I'm official slavegirl to the chair and to a couple other profs, so it's gonna be interesting. I am dying though because I got offered an independent study thing to help actual people, but I think I am going to refer to my friend, Silvia, and see if she'd like to do it.

Shhhhh, don't tell the politically correct police, but I really like working. It's nice to be with grownups. It's nice to miss my kids a little, too, instead of having them on my nerves, too.

Yesterday, between wearing a bra and moving around on campus a bunch, my rib was about killing me, but a night of vicodan helped that greatly. I didn't have to be to work today until 1. Also nice.

I also told friends about my enjoyment of the silence of the van. I drove home yesterday to pick up the kids and was really enjoying the silence of the van. I enjoyed not having to put music on for Genny. I enjoyed no bickering and I enjoyed the silence of all of it.

Something somewhere is on fire because I've been smelling the smoke. As much as I am a tree-hugging candyassed liberal hippie momma, (Redneck Ruby is a ...say it with me now...misnomer), with my asthma as bad as it is, I wish everything would burn and go away right now, especially the rabbit brush which has been blooming and kicking my wheezing coughing allergic buttochs.

However, I do have a nearly complete kitchen. Mike finished the painting last night, so I just have to put everything in place and show you all the pix. I now must scour the dishes. I also am going to have to run out hastily dressed and pull out the trash to the curb because I can guarantee that Mike has not.

My really cool thing is that Mike and I are talking about how to use gray water recycling in the desert. We are talking about a storage tank and hooking it up to drip irrigate my future fruit trees. While I'd prefer organic, it would be even neater to conserve water around here. I'd rather water the garden and flush the john with gray water, thanks, than use my fresh drinking water which is such a valuable commodity in the desert. I also prefer using the clothesline when I can, compact flourescent bulbs, and stuff like that. Of course, when it comes to black widows and scorpions, I say, whip out the chrysanthemums and gimme my pyrethrines.

Today is my last day of full-time childcare of both my kids until a school vacation time. I should be politically correct and be waxing poetic about how I'll miss doing this, but mostly, I am absolutely ecstatic about the prospect of going to work and being intellectually challenged and being around my peers. And yes, I will miss this. I will miss having my morning cuddles with Genny and having Russell report his misadventures in the chicken coop. I will miss the quiet half and hour that I lay in my bed watching the sunrise before I doze back to sleep for a couple more hours. I will miss sleeping in til 9, or the occasionally delish 10 with the kids.

Russell is having a classic transitional morning. He's sobbing and whining about stupid shit and all I feel like doing is committing random acts of child abuse. I'm not, but I feel like it. Of course, he's been up an hour and he didn't bother to take his meds, so we're also waiting for his meds to kick in. I wish they'd kick him already because I'm sooooo there. He's so horrible when he's like this and I just have a picture of what the coming week before he starts school is going to be like and it's simply NOT PRETTY. In this case, it would be really awesome to be wrong about this, so after his meds kick in, he and I are going to have a little talk about what he can expect -- to the best of my ability. I won't know my schedule until I meet with my faculty members next Monday.

It would be really nice to have the option of dropping off/picking up Mr. Boy at school, so that I only need childcare the couple nights I have class and only for an hour or so until Mike gets there.

Yeah, I sent him across the way to feed the neighbor's horse and when he came back he found the thing he was frustrated about not finding and he was a different child. I just need more time in my life.

My home town has been victim to some of the worst thunderstorms and flash flooding in the country. It just got called a disaster area by the State of NH.

When my brother and I were young, we used to climb this 200 year old maple tree out back. Last week, a third of that tree shook loose in the thunderstorm, took out a power pole -- chopping it off 20 feet above the ground and missing the nearby barn, house, and cars. Adjacent to the back part of my parents' property, a teenager was swept through a culvert and survived. The main roads to the town are all washed out. There is one remaining road and it's for local necessary traffic -- in other words if the fire guys don't know you, you can't get through.

This morning, my town was on Good Morning, America and it wasn't a good thing.

My chickens finally laid their first eggs! I'm so proud of my girls! I had no idea how long they'd been festering in the henhouse, so I had to toss out my first three smallish brown-shelled eggs, but you can betcha, I'll be out there tomorrow, looking for my first edible eggs and I'll be planning quiches and omelets and all kinds of beautiful things.

Once we get back from a birthday party tomorrow, we're going to finish up painting the kitchen and then we're going to fence the garden off from the chickens and let them out in the yard during the day to peck and play. The second you leave that coop door open, they're all flowing out their henhouse -- a river of clucking and ruffling feathers pecking at every little thing they find, so I think it's time.

It was weird, I realized tonight, I probably haven't been out there in a month and a half, but I've been busy and broken. It was really cool to find that they've started to lay eggs. I had Mike lay out straw in each of their boxes and we cleaned out all the old lumber and made sure they had water and lots of grain and they were just so damned cute and bokbok. I tossed in some weeds for them to peck at, which they appreciated. I was struck by the fact that they've all gotten so large and matronly and Rupert is such a little rooster, I keep wondering if he's up to keeping the girls amused. He's so much smaller than they are and I keep thinking -- you know the way you do if it's a boy beagle and a female St Bernard,"Can he reach?"

Only time will tell, I s'pose.

My chickens finally laid their first eggs! I'm so proud of my girls! I had no idea how long they'd been festering in the henhouse, so I had to toss out my first three smallish brown-shelled eggs, but you can betcha, I'll be out there tomorrow, looking for my first edible eggs and I'll be planning quiches and omelets and all kinds of beautiful things.

Once we get back from a birthday party tomorrow, we're going to finish up painting the kitchen and then we're going to fence the garden off from the chickens and let them out in the yard during the day to peck and play. The second you leave that coop door open, they're all flowing out their henhouse -- a river of clucking and ruffling feathers pecking at every little thing they find, so I think it's time.

It was weird, I realized tonight, I probably haven't been out there in a month and a half, but I've been busy and broken. It was really cool to find that they've started to lay eggs. I had Mike lay out straw in each of their boxes and we cleaned out all the old lumber and made sure they had water and lots of grain and they were just so damned cute and bokbok. I tossed in some weeds for them to peck at, which they appreciated. I was struck by the fact that they've all gotten so large and matronly and Rupert is such a little rooster, I keep wondering if he's up to keeping the girls amused. He's so much smaller than they are and I keep thinking -- you know the way you do if it's a boy beagle and a female St Bernard,"Can he reach?"

Only time will tell, I s'pose.

Okay, so doing all that stuff, yesterday? Yeah, I'm paying the price today.

In my defense, it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it would have a week ago. I have to flip those stupid boards though and paint the bottoms. I just can't bring myself to put my beautifully cracklepainted shelving up if I haven't got some paint on the bottom. (Why not paint on the bottom? Heck, I've got paint everywhere else.)

It didn't help that my husband was in a snotty mood and said things like,"Why don't you get off your ass and do A?" I have been feeling guilty about not doing everything lickety-split with the busted rib, so I mopped the floor, I reorganized the pantry shelf, sewed curtains, and unpacked a box of dishes, when I should have said,"You're only working about 15 minutes of overtime nightly, why don't you give me a fucking break, butthead?" I let him know that this morning however, when he thought he'd snuggle up and get friendly about how I am watching his kids from the crack of dawn and entertaining them, making him dinner on a nightly basis around his schedule, making sure he's got clean clothes, and keeping track of our website contract, not to mention the budget, the shopping, and taking care of the neighbor's horses. This doesn't include all the sewing I'm obligated to do between now and when hell freezes over, either. Yeesh.

You know how much fun it is to watch a 6'7" man backpedal on a unicycle? It was kind of like that. I'm still ticked at him, so I think I'll get him to do the damned pots and put down a base coat tonight on the rest of the kitchen.

Yes, Dorothy, I am a Wicked Witch and I don't melt in water, honey, as one can see from my dishpan hands.

Okay, it's official. I love what I am doing with my kitchen. It's gorgeous. We only have one half of it done, but I redid the curtains in a super fantastic way. I didn't want to totally ditch the old curtains because they're heavy and heavy is good in a place with such extreme temperature changes, but I wanted to spruce them up, so I'm stitched my jalapeno pepper fabric over the old ones like an overlay until we rip out the slider and replace it with french doors w/vent windows. Then, I may or may not use my jalapeno fabric on those. The view here is nice enough to not want to spoil it, but I also like to hide my sex life from the coyotes. Our neighbors might be able to get a view, but they'd probably have to have binoculars and a real penchant for watching lily white butts.

I am now trying to figure out what colors to make shelves and cabinets and stuff, which is kind of the fluff painting but it all feels good. Last night, I stained the big curtain rod that goes over the kitchen slider and today I sprayed on a glossy overcoat. Today, I prepped and crackle painted the small corner shelving. I didn't have to, but it adds to the whole decor thing and this time, I used large gobs of crackle and the crackle looks incredible. The kitchen is starting to look like I could actually finish unpacking before I turn 40. Tonight, I found a box in the kitchen that was full of my dessert plates and the rest of my cereal bowls. I felt deliriously happy and in my delirium, I then chose to mop the floor, fill the dishwasher with my newly found dishes and scrub black chunks off the tall cooking pot I use for heating foods to be canned before I drop them into a 20 minute hot bath.

As soon as we get it done, I'll post pictures. In the interim, you'll have to be stuck with the unshakeable and nauseating mind image of my lily white butt in a pair of some poor (now blind) coyote's binoculars.

My rib is beginning to heal. I'm sure the fact that my husband painted half the kitchen for me has a great deal to do with how fast I am healing. It helps additionally, that the kitchen looks fantabulous.

We've had some really weird weather of late. Usually, this time of the year in the desert is dryer than diabetic skin in winter, but we've had a lot of rain and that is making everything bloom at an odd time and my allergies are kicking up. Unfortunately, my asthma is kicking in, which means I'm coughing and hugging a pillow a lot.

I've got a lot of sewing done, in the works, etc. I expect to be sewing straight through Christmas. I've made two baby blankets (one is just tied and the other is just a sewn receiving blanket, I've got another one I'm quilting, I've got another I've got to piece and quilt and it gets uglier and uglier. I realized that I could actually make a cuddling blanket for someone, so I have to make that, too. My friend is having a boy in a month and a half, so I've got to go find boy clothes for her.

I should talk about A and what happened, but I'm so hurt right now, that I can't. I just won't be talking to her mom any time soon. Her mom is irresponsible and I can't hardly stand to watch. I don't understand people who do things to hurt their kids and then stand around and justify it. Leave it at that.

Things I have learned about having a broken rib....

--there is such a thing as extra strength vicodan
--you can take two vicodan ES at night and sometimes it still hurts
--getting a cold when you have a broken rib is the most horrible thing imaginable
--vicodan makes you loopy
--vicodan is my friend
--three year olds take advantage of sick mommies and thrash the house
--no, wearing a constrictor band does not make it better
--breathing deeply may prevent pneumonia, but it hurts like a mofo
--wearing a bra is impossible unless it is all cotton, two sizes too large , and blue
--explaining that not wearing a bra is kind of uncomfortable to a P.A. who is a member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee is a source of mirth
--laughing hurts
--I am a member of the Big Breasted Broad Club and I would prefer to wear a bra, thanks
--giving birth is preferable to a broken rib except for that whole the next 18 years thing
--driving for hours on end hurts
--having your husband forget to gas the car so that you run out of gas on the top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere would be okay if you could just shoot yourself rather than remain in the car or sit on a log
--sighing hurts

My ribs are continuing to be very very sore and to limit my movement. While vioxx can make that better, I'm not sure it's better for me to be able to do more and thus, put myself at risk. Not that I'm a workaholic or anything, Nooooo, not me. Uh-unh. No sirreeee.

My mom and I were comparing notes about that too, because she's torn the cartilege between her ribs and dammit, if I'm not a whole lot like her on that whole workaholic thing. She says she keeps reinjuring the ribs and it's taking her that much longer to heal. I've actually been trying really hard to slow down and take it easy, but I've been finding phrases like "Gosh, I should really paint that bathroom" coming unbidden into my head and "Hey, only three more loads of laundry, if I hang dry them."

The biggest bitch is that I have to finish that baby quilt and there's just no way I can get there right now. Sitting up and leaning forward like you have to do for sewing for an extended period of time would have me nauseous with agony in short order. I've been thinking about what if I got it pinned and taught Angelina, but I've been also debating that whole patience with a teenager thing and with the whole nauseous pain thing happening, I'm not sure I can handle the other, especially when we are talking about my thigh squishing Bernette sewing machine. I mean, (insert high pitched voice),"It's a Bernina!" And it cost $400 several years ago when that actually counted for something.

I did go to the dermatologist on Monday and I have a full blown yeast gone to fungus skin infection under my boobs. I've got the meds for it, as well as medicated anti-itching stuff for my ever itchy back, and a fancy alpha hydroxy skin lotion. Diabetes blows chunks. It doesn't matter that I my last hba1c was a 5.7 to my skin, it still grows icky critters in inconvenient places. Although, someone found the yeast infection cream stuff in the remote flap on the couch and accused me of using it, however, my poor daughter has been the sufferer of late. Hey, there's little you can't do with a mini pad, active yogurt cultures and a tube of monostat. I think a commercial I just saw in that vein scared me some.

Basically, a commercial for yogurt and in the background has about 10 grown women smiling and clearly involved in a slumber party and all I could think is "What is this, a yeast infection party?"

What kind of women have those? Is that a bunch of single women who've hung out at the pool too long in their swim suits and all discovered somewhat offhandedly that they all have yeast infections and hey, what the heck, let's have a yogurt and monostat party?

Honestly, the only women I see at the public pools are not young pretty singles, they're frumpy pretty wives watching their kids and they don't have enough time to lay on their towels by the pool soaking up so much sun that they change their body chemistry. They are running their asses off chasing munchkins in and out of the water, walking someone to pee in the bathroom (instead of the pool), toweling off a child, suggesting that their blue-lipped child take 5 in the sun, playing "find the penny", and disciplining one of their other children with the phrase,"Please don't try tossing pennies down other people's butt cracks." And a few minutes later,"Please don't drop pennies down my swimsuit."

I hear doors thundering in the hall. I am getting in that shower before I hear the phrase,"What's for breakfast?" and feel obligated to cook.

Okay, Mike and I took the kids to a local water park on Friday. I was then encouraged and dared to ride a ride called,"The Black Widow." As I hit the second tier, I caught a lot of air and started to flip on my big giant floaty tube thingy, so rather than go down on my face on the ride the rest of the way, I let the tube go up behind me and I landed in back in the track and went down. I knew I got banged up and I took it easy for the rest of the day. I took 800 mg of ibuprofen, and I got worse. I got to where I was whimpering when Mike drove over road seams, at which point, I called my doctor's line to see just how much painkiller could I get hepped up on. I was referred to the nurse's line, who referred me to the emergency room.

Several hours later from the emergency room, I was sent home with the prognosis: A broken rib.

Deep breathing hurts. Sneezing hurts. Belching hurts. Drinking a lot of cold water hurts. Sleeping hurts. And vicodan is a drug you can only use at night because it isn't good for driving. I know, I know -- details, details.

And clothes you can button up are just about the best damned thing you can have in your wardrobe. At least now that the muscles have mostly healed, I can get on my own underwear. Getting in and out of bed is a complete and total bitch. And hiccups are the work of the devil.

The worst part is that I can't hug the kids very well. Genny's been dying to cuddle and all I can do is hold hands, which just plain blows.

Dear God,

I know you're testing me lately. I am studying hard and I hope I'm doing well. Someday, I'd like to make honor roll.

Today, my 15 year old friend and niece started to just leave. She made it so I could find her easily, so she wasn't really leaving, but I'd been suspecting she was sad and depressed, because she'd been hitting me so much. She made it seem like play, but when someone is always hitting you, it's like they're trying to get your attention. I kept wondering what she didn't think I was attending and today we found out.

I touched her toe and made a smooching noise and that's the straw that broke the camel's back, apparently, because she left me at the restaurant with my two kids and the unpaid bill. I watched where she walked, paid the bill, strapped the kids in the car and drove down the road 4 blocks. I called 911 and as I was transferred to the police, I saw her up ahead walking on the same street, so I picked her up and talked with her. We discussed that we love each other and that people who love each other don't just up and leave. I asked her what was going on and she said she's worrying. I said,"OK, when we get home, Genny goes down for a nap, Russell goes into the bathroom with the fan on to clean it, and you and I are going to talk."

I cried all the way home as I drove, just tears streaming down my face, quietly. Remember, God, I prayed? Thanks for hearing my prayers because when she did talk, I sat quietly and listened and I asked questions to get more answers. We reiterated the same conversation over again -- pete and repeat -- how if things go to shit, she can stay here and she'll be safe and have her needs met. How her mom seems to be making the strides necessary to provide for her. She looked desperately sad and I asked why the toe thing set her over the edge and she shrugged. I said,"After I had endured a lot of abuse, there were some things that triggered me, sometimes for no reason." I told her about my weirdnesses about hair and hairbrushes. She looked relieved and said that yeah, sometimes she has the same thing. I said that she'd been hitting, kicking and punching me for days and that I had been worried, but waiting.

She apologized.

I told her I loved her. She told me she loved me back.

And for the first time all week, she went to her room and slept.

I may not be able to save the world, and maybe even not her, but I feel I am doing the right thing by making the effort. God, you tell me to love and I hope I love enough.

God, please hold A in the light and take all my wishes and hopes for her happiness and help her make them real in her life.

Love and adoration,
Wendy